Against the Clock (6 page)

Barratt nodded. He couldn't take his eyes from her gun, its hammer cocked, the safety off. She was crazy.

"Did you know it was me you were tracking?"

"No!"

"Who authorized it?"

"I got my contract direct from Zelig."

"Did he know it was me?"

"No." Barratt shook his head, searching for links to a truth he couldn't possibly know. "I don't think he would sent me if he knew it was you."

Shirin stared at him hard. Her focused glare seemed to drill deep into his mind, searching for any hint of deception. With a huff, she eased the Glock's hammer back into its neutral position and holstered it.

"What the hell, Shirin! You scared the shit out of me!"

She ignored his complaints, leaned back, and reached behind his seat. He felt the bindings to his wrist give way and fall off."And why the hell did you Taser me?"

"Lucky I didn't shoot you," she said, dumping the wire cutters in his lap. She slammed the gear into drive, gunned the engine, and took off.

Barratt freed his feet, then rubbed his flesh where the bindings had created red welts. "What the hell is going on?"

"A lot more than I thought."

"So that
was
you at the café? The blonde hair?"

"It was."

"Holy shit… I never got a good look at you… I didn't know it was you…"

"When did you find me?"

Rubbing his wrists, Barratt replied, "When you left the apartment building in the early hours of the morning. The security guy planted a bug on you when you left. We followed from a distance. Staked out your place. And when you left, I set up a surveillance team while I followed you with three of my men."

They were quiet for a while.

"We have a problem," she said matter-of-factly.

Barratt looked at her. "Only one?"

"It won't take them long to figure out it's me, and with your team down and you missing…considering our history, they'll assume you're with me now."

Barratt nodded. They would be hunting for him, too. For whatever reason they wanted her, he was a part of it now.

"I'm assuming you have a plan," he said.

"I do."

11:16:41

Minister Jordan fought the nausea climbing rapidly up her throat.

The damming photos lay scattered across her desk. Photos of her husband, naked, in a montage of different positions. Her husband, in the family bedroom, in the bed she shared with him, twisted, tangled, embracing, kissing, and having sex. Her husband, having sex with another man.

The man she loved, the father of her children, the man she adored, perched on his knees with another man's cock inside his mouth.

The waves of shock and disgust overwhelmed her, and she lurched for the waste bin next to her desk. She vomited into it, retching in long sobs that racked her body with a deep and taxing pain. She didn't care who saw her, who knew. She was oblivious to all but the deep sorrow hollowing out her soul.

Across from her, Zelig smiled. He had broken her.

"I'm sorry I had to bring this to you, “he said dryly. "But I thought you should know what your husband has been doing while you're here working hard for our country."Zelig postured, his sincerity well groomed yet transparent. "He obviously doesn't appreciate how any of this would affect you. How these photographs would have a very dramatic and damning effect on your political future. Even more damaging would be the shocking revelation that the man your husband is sleeping with is, in fact, a minor."

He paused, but she knew there was more to come. She saw him watching her; enjoying the effect his words had on her."But not to worry. Fortunately I was able to intercept the evidence before anything was officially logged."

He rose, walked to the door, and turned to face her.

"Minister Jordan," he said gently. "I'll leave you to process all of this. But if you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me. Anytime. At the moment, only you and I need know about this. But we'll have to work together, to keep it that way… I'll be in touch."

With that, Zelig left her office. The message was clear.

11:21:05

Smith walked through the ruins of the back door. The debris crunched under his boot. He didn't worry about contaminating the scene. He didn't need to preserve forensic evidence. There would be no investigation. A cleaning team had already been dispatched to remove any sign of what had happened here.

Smith knew this was the work of Shirin Reyes. As he glanced at the body on the floor, the shattered doorjamb, and recalled the dead man upstairs, he felt an odd sense of admiration for Reyes. She was good. Really good.

He had managed to get the two technicians off the street before the growing crowd of neighbors ventured out from the safety of their doorways. An Agency doctor would patch them up without an official record. She had let them live…and he didn't understand why, yet.

The surveillance van was already in transit, secured to a "company" tow-truck. Regrettably, he was unable to interview the cab driver before the first responders had arrived and taken him to the nearest hospital. The police would want to speak with him too. The cab driver would have to wait, he decided.

The cleaning team arrived from the rear of the block, as instructed. Smith was coordinating them when his phone rang. It was Zelig.

"You have news?"Zelig was abrupt as usual.

"Yes." Smith cupped the phone to his chest. He instructed one of the cleaning crew to remove the body at the rear of the house first. Back on the cell to Zelig, he said, "Video footage from the club confirmed it. The girl is Shirin Reyes. I've just arrived at her safe house. We had a team here. Barratt was on lead. From what I understand, he was pulling out when she attacked."

"She
what
?"

"She attacked." Smith paused for a moment while he peeked through the curtain to assess the police presence in the street. "I'd say we upset her at the café this morning, and she came back to either collect something from the safe house, or she was just pissed off and wanted to hurt someone."

"Damage?"Zelig whispered in a white-hot rage.

"Considerable. Two men outside with bullets in their legs, and two men inside, dead." Smith pulled the phone from his ear before the blasting of Zelig's shouts damaged his eardrum.

Calming quickly, Zelig asked, "What happened?"

"From what I can see, she commandeered a taxi, rammed the surveillance van, wounded the technicians inside, took the van around the block, and gained entrance to the safe house from the rear block. There was an exchange of gunfire. Two men went down. She was gone only minutes before I arrived."

"Where's Barratt? If he's not one of the dead men, I want him shot! Get rid of him!"

"Barratt is not here." He heard Zelig catch his breath. He waited for Zelig to say something.

"He's with her," Zelig said, his voice flat.

"Excuse me?"

"Barratt and Reyes have a history."

11:36:42

Shirin exited the yellow sedan; their third vehicle in the last hour. She closed the door behind her. Barratt followed her, his eyes taking in every detail around him in one practiced sweep. The large underground car park was a hive of activity. Cars lined up, reversed, stopped, started, and blared their horns as patrons of the shopping complex fought their way in and out.

They had not been followed. They hadn't expected to be, but being creatures of habit, the precautions were a normal part of their lives.

"Have you been here before?" she asked him.

He assessed his surroundings, his mind working furiously. "No."

Shirin walked briskly to the elevators leading up to the retail entrance. "Glorietta Shopping Plaza is large, spread out, provides endless escape routes, and is always busy. I have a corporate suite on the top floor. First, we need new clothes. Lose everything," she said, motioning to his scuffed jeans and dirty boots. "Then we'll grab some coffees to go. We have a lot of work to do."

11:37:19

Director Zelig dialed his assistant's direct line. Sitting in the back of the government-issued BMW, the privacy screen that separated him from the front compartment had been engaged since he entered the vehicle. That was the way he liked it.

"April," he said sternly into the phone once she answered. "I need you to start the paperwork on a national alert for Shirin Reyes. But I want you to use the name Marisol Keplor on all official paperwork."

"Yes, sir."

"Provide a variety of photos and descriptions. Label her status as 'armed and dangerous'. Make the alert in relation to the hit and run this morning involving the taxi. I'm sending you a text message with the particulars. Have the paperwork ready for me to sign when I arrive. I'm eight minutes out."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, attach a warrant for Trent Barratt, listing him as a known associate of Marisol Keplor, etc., etc."

"Of course, sir. I'll have it ready when you arrive."

Zelig disconnected the call. He held the phone to his chin in contemplation. It would be a lot harder for her to hide with federal and local law enforcement officially looking for her. He'd just have to get to her before any other agency could question her.

How and why she was involved still hung over his consciousness like a heavy, wet cloud threatening to water-board him at any moment. Could she somehow be involved in Operation Sandstone? The thought troubled him.

He looked at his watch. In just over 10 hours, the world would be forever changed, and he would be untouchable. Then, if she was still alive, he would hunt her and that prick Barratt down and watch them die an agonizing death.

11:58:33

Dressed in new black jeans, a tailored, loose-fitting shirt, and dark brown boots, Shirin looked like a different person. Her dark hair was held back in a simple ponytail, and a pair of steel frame non-prescription glasses perched comfortably on the bridge of her nose. Barratt still wondered how the slightest changes could have such a dramatic effect on her appearance.

Trading his jeans and boots for trousers and a pair of joggers, Barratt thought he looked slightly uncomfortable but still the same.

They walked toward the offices of Centre Management. Barratt carried a tray of four coffees while Shirin held a newly purchased sports bag, the weapons seized from earlier in the day stashed away within its pockets.

A door marked "Authorized Personnel" was clearly visible beside the office door of Centre Management. Shirin punched the security code into the manual keypad, there was a click, and she pushed open the door.

A long corridor lit up as the sensor lights flickered into action. At the end, a single elevator stood, illuminated in the dim lighting.

Neither of them spoke a word.

Inside the elevator, Shirin swiped her fingers over the electronic keypad, entered the authorization code, then waited while the security system verified her code. The keypad beeped back. "Discovery Suite" in bold green letters flashed at them.

Barratt stood observing. He looked at her, smiled, and raised one eyebrow.

"Impressive," he said. "How many office suites on this floor?"

"Three."

"All secure?"

"As much as they can be."

"Which one is yours?"

"All three."

"Last time you were here?"

"Two days ago," she replied, opening the gym bag. She withdrew a silenced Glock from the bag and handed it to Barratt. "Feel better now?"

"Much." He released the magazine, felt its weight, noted the bullets inside, replaced it, pulled back the slide, and chambered a cartridge. Secreting the ready gun in the small of his back, he looked noticeably more at ease.

The elevator came to a halt with a ding. The doors hissed open. Shirin walked out quickly. She passed the first door on her left and stopped outside the second door. All three doors looked alike, except for the numbering.

Barratt followed closely, looking up and down the corridor. He noted the security cameras positioned at the far end and over the elevator entrance.

Shirin punched in the access code to door number two.

Once inside the office suite, Shirin turned on the lights, bolted the door, and walked briskly through to the back copy room.

It was small and cramped, yet looked completely functional.

She slipped her hands behind a large filing cabinet and pulled it away from the wall. Hinged on one corner, it obeyed her demand without effort. Behind it, a small internal door stood, a compact, manual combination key-panel over the handle. She pressed in four digits, turned the handle, opened the door, and walked through.

Barratt followed her into the next room, crouching down through the smaller door. Once inside, she leaned past him, pulled the filing cabinet back hard, and then locked the door.

They were in the adjoining office, number three. Unlike the other office, this was a large, open space. No separate rooms, except for what he assumed was the bathroom on the far side of the layout.